Hiraeth
by noturavgdumbasss
Summary: Hiraeth (n.) A deep, wistful, nostalgic sense of longing for home; a home that no longer is or perhaps never was. He thought she was fine. She wasn't. Or, a brief look into those first six months in Auradon before Mal ran away to the Isle.


Hiraeth (n.) A deep, wistful, nostalgic sense of longing for home; a home that no longer is or perhaps never was.

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She was fine the first month or so. Sure there were the accusations of her still remaining loyal to the villains, but Mal found that it was fairly easy to ignore them, especially since she was still getting used to the promise of good food and not having to constantly be on guard that Auradon brought. After all, that was to be expected after she had stolen Fairy Godmother's wand at Ben's Coronation and had nearly given it to her mother, who had planned to take over Auradon. She was targeted more than her friends, solely because she was dating the King. It stung, but one simply didn't grow up on the Isle of the Lost without growing thick skin.

But Mal could handle it, especially if it meant that her friends could be happy in Auradon, and that she could be with Ben.

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The accusations had worn off eventually, save for the occasional stray whispers exchanged between students in the hallways, which tended to stop as soon as she entered. No, it wasn't false accusations of villainy that pressed at the very edges of Mal's mind anymore, but rather the escalating pressure put on her by the people to be more like the perfect princesses that graced the halls of Auradon Prep.

It started out small — an off comment on her hair color, or a condescending glance at her leather attire. But then it turned into stares as she passed, and even more whispers, just when they had somewhat relented. They whispered about the clothes she wore and the shoes on her feet, thinking in their naïve minds that she hadn't heard them. So she pretended she didn't, but the words grated at her, and chipped at the cool confidence she projected.

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She'd asked Evie for help, carefully making sure she left out the reason why. She was comfortable with telling Evie many things, but this, as it turned out, wasn't one of them — at least not yet. There was just something shameful in admitting that the same goody two-shoes she'd once made fun of had gotten to her so. The blue-haired girl had been understandably confused when it was first brought it up, but then agreed with a great level of enthusiasm.

"_I'm sorry, you want me to do what?"_

"_Help me rearrange my wardrobe so that it's more Auradon-y,"_ she'd replied patiently. After all, her skepticism wasn't unwarranted.

"_That's not a word. But also, why?"_

"_I just thought it would make it easier to leave behind the old, evil Mal and become new, good Mal."_

It didn't make much sense to her, but it must have to Evie, because about a week later she found herself standing in the mirror in their room, trying on a pale blue knee-length dress she wouldn't have been caught dead in a month ago. It was perfect, but there was something else that bothered her about the girl looking back at her from the mirror. Mal twisted a strand of her purple hair around her finger before a thought occurred to her.

She'd taken out her mother's spellbook from in her nightstand with a twinge of guilt, and told herself that this was the last spell she'd cast before going back to being the perfect Auradon girl everyone expected her to be.

Less than a minute later, she found herself looking at a blonde, Auradon version of herself, satisfied. She'd later make up some lie to tell her friends about how she'd just wanted to try something different, but it didn't matter if it just shut the voices up, even for a little while.

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As it turned out, that was far from the last time she used her magic, or even her mother's spellbook. They praised her for a while, for fitting in so well and for transitioning into good so easily. But of course even Auradon got tired of being nice. The headlines started to just be speculation about how long it took for her to mess up, and if she had already, and how much if she had. Mal was walking on eggshells, doing her best to not mess up, and if that meant using magic then no one had to know, right?

And so she continued, using small time spells so she was never late and speed-reading spells to learn everything about anyone she had to meet on the royal tour Ben had invited her on. She knew that it would probably blow up in her face at the end, one way or another, but also knew that no matter how 'good' or 'nice' the people of Auradon acted, most of them were sharks, and would never relent if she slipped up even a little.

"_Just ignore them,"_ Ben had said during one of the rare moments they could be together without having to rush to meetings or classes. "_You know that what they think in no way affects my feelings for you, don't you?"_

"_Of course I do,"_ She had lied, smiling sweetly, knowing that if he really knew, he'd want nothing to do with her.

He'd bought her deception, and went back to smiling like his usual self, and she mirrored it with a fake one of her own, though inside Mal felt as though she was being torn apart. He thought she was fine. She wasn't.

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She messed up. She knew it would happen — no one as vile or as duplicitous as her has ever kept their good fortune, as seen with many of the villains on the Isle. She felt numb, though a distant part of her brain registered her feeble attempts at trying to salvage what she could after Ben had found her mother's spellbook in their picnic basket. She should've known that their relationship was doomed from the beginning. He needed an elegant, perfect princess by his side, and as much as she tried to fool everyone — sometimes even herself — she never was one.

And when she finally admitted that aloud to herself and him, she felt something inside her break as she walked away from him. But with that she also felt an overwhelming sense of relief wash over her at not having to pretend anymore. As the sobs fought their way out of her mouth, she felt as if a weight had been lifted off her.

"I don't belong here," she choked out.

Mal knew she was acting like a coward by running away, but she couldn't bring herself to care through the relief of being able to go back home, where no one expected her to know which fork to use or which dress to wear with which shoes. She was free.


End file.
